


A Rare Bouquet

by jonnimir



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Will Graham, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Sexual Content, Hallucinations, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of potential/future mpreg, Minor monster attributes, Murder Courtship, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Hannibal Lecter, Power Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Vague supernatural allusions, Wendigo, physical fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir
Summary: Will finds himself drawn in by the darkness at Hannibal’s core—something only fully revealed in heat when the violent deaths of his alpha suitors can be legally excused. When Will witnesses the aftermath of one of those murders first hand, he feels compelled to begin a courtship, wanting to see everything that lies beneath the surface. But what he seeks is not tame, and it will take more than flowers to earn its respect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaraLecter77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraLecter77/gifts).



> Since you left the prompt very open, I took a look at your AO3 to get a sense of what you like, and hope I've managed to come up with something that works for you! It's been fun. :)

In truth, Will wasn’t entirely shocked when Jack Crawford called him in to assess a scene at Hannibal’s house. He had sensed there was something dark in Hannibal from the start, and a few months of knowing him, both inside and outside of their informal sessions, only intensified that impression. Something inside him called to something in Will, drew them together magnetically—shadows whispering to shadows. Will was far too cautious to confront it directly, unwilling to bet too much on the hope that Hannibal’s shadow bore the same form as his, and wasn’t simply the lure of a clever psychiatrist hoping to make Will’s reveal itself. But apparently Will had been right to notice it, because now someone was dead.

When Will arrived at the scene, Jack was looking understandably grim. He had been vague over the phone, but as soon as Will appeared in person, he jumped straight to the facts. “Local PD were called in for a mating scuffle gone bad. Wouldn’t have required more than a bit of paperwork usually, but the FBI feels it’s in our best interest to take a look at this sort of thing ourselves when it involves someone affiliated with us, even as a consultant. Making sure everyone’s crossing their T’s and dotting their I’s, keeping an eye out for anything fishy.”

“He’s not being charged with anything, is he?” It was legal, technically, for an omega to respond to an alpha’s mating overtures with violence, and the chances drastically increased when in a heat-induced fugue. But Will found himself more concerned than he should have been, and he had to admit to himself that he was less bothered by the thought that Hannibal had killed someone than he was by the fact that another alpha had the gall to go after him. This was a particularly unreasonable response considering Will wasn’t even courting Hannibal. It wasn’t _appropriate_ for him to court Hannibal, as his patient of sorts, even if he wasn’t intimidated by his perfect composure and elegance—not to mention that indistinct darkness that lurked beneath his polite pretenses.

“Unlikely. It matches up with his heat cycle just fine. There are some defensive wounds, nothing too bad. But the scene’s a mess, Will. You need to see it for yourself. I know you have a working relationship with Dr. Lecter, so I won’t take your word for it. But I want your opinion.”

When Will walked into the sitting room and saw the scene, he knew immediately why Jack had wanted a second opinion on this one. Will had been expecting a torn throat or broken neck, maybe some bites and claw marks. That’s how it usually went, in these cases—the alpha made a move, was challenged, and failed to survive it. Alphas were expected to prove their worth to an omega before mating, and it was considered their own problem if they went after an omega high enough above their caliber to seriously injure them in the process of rejection. If in the failed mating they lost their life, it wasn’t the concern of the police.

But that wasn’t the scene that greeted Will. Instead, the corpse was slouched in an emerald green armchair with its abdomen torn wide open, blood drenching the chair and coagulating on the marble floor. So much blood that Will knew the man was still alive when he was disemboweled, and the certainty stopped him in his tracks. This wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t merciful. This was a predator let loose under the influence of his heat. _Or taking advantage of that excuse_ , Will thought, uneasy.

Will could see Jack in his peripheral vision. His arms were crossed and when he spoke, his voice was tense. “Dr. Lecter says this man was an acquaintance of his. Knew he was going into heat, and found a way in through the back door. He must have forgotten to lock up properly once his heat hit.”

That gave him pause. Will very much doubted Hannibal would neglect something so basic as locking his doors before a heat, regardless of the confused state that often accompanied it. Which meant either Hannibal let him in intending to spend his heat with this alpha—plausible, but unusual for a pre-negotiated mating to result in a fatal challenge—or it had been a trap.

“You can see the murder weapon there,” Jack said, pointing at a scalpel on a nearby table. “Dr. Lecter says he always keeps one on hand to sharpen pencils, and grabbed it while in his heat fugue.”

Will nodded. “I’ve seen scalpels on his desk before, in his office.”

He stepped closer, eyes probing the abdominal cavity, which seemed… scrambled.

Jack sighed deeply. “He removed his liver and kidneys.”

“He…” He turned to look at Jack. “What did he do with them? I don’t see them.”

“He ate them.”

Will’s heart jumped. “Ate them.”

“Raw.”

Will’s eyes flickered away, landing on the victim’s gaping stomach, but his mind was racing too quickly to fully register what he saw. “Not unheard of. Rare, nowadays. But there’s good physiological reason for it. It’s been observed in other species as well.”

“Replenishing nutrients, making up for the loss of energy in mating, or heat. Yes, I know. You can’t say it doesn’t spook you, though. This kind of thing, in this day and age.”

“It’s… unexpected.” _Impressive, actually_ , he thought. The kind of omega who would dine in such a way, rejecting the allure of a knot for the taste of this primal feast. Regardless of what darkness he sensed, he had never expected such visceral violence from someone who never set foot out of the house without a three-piece suit and carefully styled hair.

“Like I said, I won’t take your word for it. But I want your opinion. Is this kind of thing… does it look like it falls within normal parameters for this kind of omega behavior? Do you need the room as usual to take a closer look?”

Will didn’t have to take a closer look. He could already imagine Hannibal exactly as he would have been hours earlier, scalpel slicing unflinchingly through skin and flesh. The alpha shocked, and Hannibal unmoved. Blood running over his hands, the scalpel cast aside for the pure _joy_ of ripping the flesh. His hands sinking into the belly and retrieving their prize, glistening trophies. The alpha still wheezing and dying beneath him when he took the first bite. Raw. Blood and juices running down his chin. The thought was… not unattractive. And if Will imagined the scene with any more clarity, he was afraid things might get a bit awkward.

So he shook his head. “This isn’t my usual kind of case. I’m not an omega specialist, Jack. Like I said, it’s been documented before, and it’s been excused on those occasions.”

“I’m not worried about the legal precedent. I’m worried about what kind of person we have consulting for the FBI. I had someone look into it as soon as I saw this—a history of violent heats, though not cannibalism, unless you count the odd bite. But several of the alphas did end up dead.”

Will shrugged, though he badly wanted to know more about those past incidents. “Doesn’t mean anything. Around a third of omegas are prone to violent heats. Usually doesn’t result in deaths, but it happens.”

“I want you to talk to him, see what you think. He’s not acting as traumatized as you’d expect, but maybe he’s just used to it by now. He’s in his study confirming his account of things. I told the officer in there to expect you—she’ll clear out and let you have a minute.”

Will nodded, and was pointed to the room where Hannibal sat, still covered in blood and draped in a light blanket, like a trauma victim, but looking just as untraumatized as Jack had said. He looked barely wounded, for one thing—most of the blood must have been from the alpha. Will could only see a few scratches, a bloody lip, and a bruise blooming on his cheekbone. In fact, he didn’t look at all as worn out as one might expect after a violent heat; he was practically glowing, looking more content than Will had ever seen him. Will could smell the fading trace of his heat as he approached, and the way its sweetness mingled with the salty stench of blood was strangely enticing.

The police officer in the room gathered up her notes and left without a word when Will entered the room, seemingly not eager to spend any more time with Hannibal than was strictly necessary.

And Will could see why. Hannibal's back was held straight and there wasn’t even a hint of shame in his eyes—he clearly knew his rights and felt no need to fake repentance. He nodded slightly in greeting. “I’m glad to see you, Will,” he said. “Though I am sorry for the inconvenience this must have caused.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” That felt like an understatement. The scene had been a revelation, and seeing Hannibal as he was now was a treat.

“Perhaps not to you.” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. “However, I believe I have rather upset the local police with my behavior. It seems cannibalism is one step too far in their eyes, regardless of the nutritional benefits while in heat.”

“Seems to suit you well.” At the slight tilt of his head, Will quickly added, “I mean, you’re looking well, considering you just ended your heat. Most omegas are more… fatigued.”

“Possibly as a result of poor nutrition. I would recommend they supplement their diets accordingly.” His lips lifted into a slight smile, and Will found himself smiling back at the shamelessness of it. Then frowned, remembering why he was here.

“Jack asked me to come check things out. Make sure this is just an omega behavioral quirk and nothing more suspicious.”

“And your conclusion?”

Will contemplated him for a moment, feeling like he was being dared to question it. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “There’s enough precedent to ensure you won’t be held legally liable for it. Enough conceivable biological imperative to provide motivations that people can understand. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I asked for _your_ conclusion, not that of law enforcement. Did you analyze the scene as you usually do?”

Will's eyes went to the door, but there was no sign anyone was listening in. Slowly, he shook his head. “I could see you clearly enough without it. All the blood. The hunger. Not so much savage as righteous, victorious over someone who was undeserving of you.” He paused. “I won’t tell Jack what I saw.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not his to see.” Will wondered if he should be so bold as to declare it as _his_ to see, but quickly decided against it. He was still cautious, despite everything—feeling uncomfortably like his own shadow was being lured into the light, where he would be revealed too soon.  “I’ll let you have your feast.”

“Very kind of you.”

“It’s not kindness.” At the question in Hannibal’s gaze, he couldn't help saying: “I think it might be greed.”

But despite having clearly piqued Hannibal’s interest, he couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t just embarrass himself, and he was relieved to hear footsteps approaching so he had a reason to excuse himself before Hannibal could ask him to elaborate.

Even as quickly as he left, his eyes met Hannibal’s as he was on the way out, and he thought he could feel it between them—Will’s barriers folding in on themselves as he accepted the instinct that _this_ should be his mate, appropriateness be damned, and Hannibal’s satisfaction in knowing Will was hooked.

Whether or not he would court Hannibal was no longer the question. He knew, deep in his bones, that he would feel compelled to do so. The issue was figuring out how to court him without ending up eaten.

***

Their next session was only a few days later, and Will was finding it awkward, considering where their last conversation had left off. He wasn’t even sure how to greet Hannibal, upon entering his office—surely the socially appropriate thing to do would be to ask how he’s been, but that veered a bit too close to an insinuation of weakness, as if he might have been shaken by recent events. If anything, perhaps congratulations were in order—yet that would be far too direct, too presumptuous. Will was courting his shadow, and he needed to draw it out, not blind it with spotlights.

Hannibal of, course, was as calm and collected as usual. He let Will dodge the subject until he eventually commented, “You seem to be avoiding mentioning the incident of a few days ago. Has it made you uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word.”

“Of course. It wasn’t discomfort that you mentioned then, was it? It was greed.” Will couldn’t meet his eyes. “Then again, you ran away very quickly after saying it, and you look like you’d do the same now if you could, so ‘discomfort’ might not be entirely incorrect, after all.”

“I shouldn’t have said it. It was impulsive.”

“It sounded honest at the time. Tell me what you meant by it.”

He hesitated. Hannibal seemed more distant now, veiled—as if some door to the hidden recesses of his mind was left open in the immediate aftermath of the murder, and he had now had the time to close it. “I meant… I liked what I saw. And I didn’t want you to be corralled, regardless of what society might think of your inclinations.”

“Is saying you liked what you saw an attempt at flattery?”

He blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Or… maybe I do in a way, but it’s sincere. I can understand why you’d have so many suitors risking their lives.”

Hannibal hummed. “Flattery doesn’t work well on me, Will. I wouldn’t advise it. The last alpha who approached me was quite predisposed to flattery himself, and you bore witness to the result.”

He felt Hannibal’s attention on him even while avoiding his gaze, feigning an interest in the toe of his left shoe. It was unsettling. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then, because he just didn’t seem to be able to keep his tongue under control: “What _would_ you advise?”

“Do you ask from curiosity, or self-interest?”

Will took a deep breath and forced his eyes back up—not quite able to bear direct contact with Hannibal’s, but getting close. “Bit of both.” When that seemed insufficient, he carefully said, “It’s not just surface-level attraction that I’m referring to. I know asking you directly will get me nowhere, but I want to know more about what I saw emerge through your actions the other day. _Who_ I saw.”

“Far be it from me to discourage curiosity, if that’s what this is, but what makes you think there’s more to see?”

He forced himself to make eye contact. It almost burned, Hannibal’s own curiosity clearly razor sharp. “Because I see that you’re holding something in front of yourself to cover it. Paper thin, or thinner. Just gauze. You let that hidden thing run free the other day, and it’s taken a while to build up your disguise again—and it will never be entirely opaque, because it doesn’t need to be. You get your bloodlust and appetite out in the open and don’t have to deal with consequences, and it amuses you. But I can see there’s more to you than what you allow to be visible.”

Hannibal inclined his head—suggesting agreement at the same time as it made his stare even more intimidating. “If you believe there’s more to be seen, I would advise you the same as anyone: pay attention to the signs, but don’t spend so much time looking for clues that you forget to heed your own mind.”

“So that’s it—pay attention and go with my gut? You’re not going to try to discourage my curiosity, after all?”

Hannibal considered him for a moment before saying, “No, I don’t believe I will.” He sounded almost surprised.

As little as that gave him, Will found it strangely encouraging.

***

A few more days passed and Will still wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Heeding his mind” wasn’t helpful advice, as it turned out, because his mind was simply a mess. It took less than a week after the incident for Jack to officially drop any scrutiny of Hannibal, though Will sensed it would take him longer than that to start fully trusting Hannibal again. It did, however, give Will one less excuse to procrastinate making a move.

He knew he wanted to make some kind of courtship gesture toward Hannibal and make his intent clear, but he had no idea how to go about courting anyone, let alone someone who had a habit of eating his suitors. He could only assume Hannibal would want him to put in a full effort—flowers, dinners, the whole nine yards. But the thought didn't sit right with him. Hannibal seemed the kind of person to appreciate such things, yes, but what Will had witnessed, to his boundless awe, deserved something better than that. Something unique and unmistakably meant for Hannibal.

He ended up taking a walk for a few hours in the frigid forest with his dogs, trying to clear his mind. It didn’t help, merely leaving him frustrated, cold, and feeling somehow more lonely than usual. He retired to bed with thoughts still swarming around his head. He locked up the house in a slight daze, had two fingers of whiskey, and closed the curtains to stop the bright shine of the moon from intruding on his sleep.

And then, just as fretfully, he slept.

When his dreams began, he was in a forest, walking in the shadows of pines and oaks cast by the moon above. He was clutching a knife, his senses were alert, and he knew he was not the only creature in these woods—but he did not know whether he was hunting it, or being hunted himself.

Frost bit at his skin, prickling over every inch of flesh. Fallen leaves crackled under bare feet, and then he heard an echo.

He turned sharply. The shadows rustled with the wind, but he saw nothing distinct.

Then a flicker of light caught his eye. Distant and surprisingly warm in the cold cyan and emerald of the dark forest. He followed it until he could see it was a fire, sinking ever lower in the chill wind, and ringed with blackened stones.

He heard a crack behind him and spun to face it. This time, it revealed itself. A tall, jet-black figure emerging from shadows. Its form was almost human, but emaciated, as if made from bone and branches rather than flesh. Profusely pointed antlers jutted from its bare scalp, and as it stepped into the firelight Will could see claws gleam at the end of long fingers.

_I hunger_.

The words were a whisper passing through the woods—Will did not see the creature’s mouth move at all. But he still felt certain it was what spoke.

“What do you hunger for?”

It circled the fire and looked up, reaching to grab something above it that was concealed by branches. It pulled down a hand by the wrist, and for a moment Will thought there must be a person in the tree—but then the bloodied joint of the elbow came into view, and he realized it was only an arm.

_An offering._

It smiled, and an abundance of jagged white teeth came into view, each one sharp and pointed like a shark’s.

Will took a step back, his body slammed with adrenaline from some base animal reflex. But the creature made no move toward him. Instead, it took a bite from the arm it held. Blood ran from the new wound as swiftly as if the arm had still been attached to someone.

The fire burnt low, and the creature stepped forward, slowly crouching before laying the arm over the coals. Flames rose quickly, devouring the flesh, and the creature looked up from behind them and stared straight at Will before stepping into the flames. The fire burst open so bright that Will had to cover his eyes. When he looked again, the fire had died away but the creature was standing in the middle of the firepit, seeming to burn from within. Flames licked around its limbs and spilled from its mouth. Its eyes were burning embers.

_Feed me._

 

Will woke feeling like _he_ was burning from within. His sheets were soaked through with sweat, and he kicked them off, breathing heavily. It was still dark outside, and his bedside clock read 2:40 AM.

He rolled over and off the bed. Ruined sheets aside, he was troubled. Nightmares weren’t unusual for him, but this one was different. The shadows of his mind didn’t speak, they only showed—death and violence, usually, not strange creatures and forests.

And it was hard to know, exactly, in the dim landscape of the dream woods, when lit by eerie moonlight and flickering flames. But this creature… this creature, he was fairly sure, was wearing Hannibal’s face.

An offering, it had said. An offering of flesh.

It made sense, actually. Courtship nowadays usually involved gifts of fine clothes, trinkets, sweets. Things that indicated prosperity and attentiveness. But in the old, old days—the same old days in which it was somewhat more common for omegas to kill suitors, and considerably more common for them to eat those suitors if they did—it was also common for alphas to kill other alphas and bring their bodies to the omega they were courting. To prove their worth as hunters. It wasn’t legal to do that anymore, unless two competing alphas agreed to a fight or someone was accidentally injured during a rut. But Hannibal, he was certain, wanted his mate to be a hunter. His equal. Someone with the same taste for blood. He would want to be courted with such a gift.

Will changed out of his sweaty pajamas and pulled on a pair of jeans and a flannel. He would think better outside in the fresh air. He reached to unlatch the door and paused for a moment when he saw it was already unlatched. Had he been so worked up this evening that he’d forgotten? He gave a cursory look around the room, but he knew if a stranger had gotten into the house, the dogs would have become agitated. As it was, any dogs who had been disturbed by his nightmare-induced restlessness were now falling back asleep.

He shrugged it off, poured himself another whiskey since he was clearly more of a mess than he thought, and went out onto the porch to contemplate murder.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought about before, honestly. He knew there was a part of him that was never entirely detached from the murders he investigated—a part that carried that bloodlust into his everyday life, a quiet hum that faded into the background but was never gone completely. The shadow that Hannibal had coaxed into the light, and that Will was now going to show him clearly. There was a big difference between idle daydreams and premeditated murder, but it was a gap Will was going to have to bridge.

***

Two weeks later he was slicing someone clean down the front and contemplating the fact that it really hadn’t been too difficult to go from imagining murder to actually carrying it out. The main challenge was the logistics—emotionally, on the other hand, he had been well prepared by his fantasies. He was aware that he might have some concerns after the fact, but there was no space for second guessing when he was swimming in adrenaline and digging his hands into the body, still steaming hot, to pluck out the organs and place them in an ice-packed cooler. He knew of Hannibal’s fondness for organ meat, even outside of heat-induced cannibalism. This would be a whole gift basket for him.

Will wasn’t sure he would go ahead with his plans to further mutilate the body until he was finished emptying it of all its choice organs. Then it was just a sad shell, not worthy of its significance in their courtship. He needed to elevate it—make it shine as brightly as his feelings for Hannibal.

When he was done, the body was hung from a tree by its wrists, less desirable organs laid at its feet. The flaps of skin that once covered his torso were now pinned back like butterfly wings, displaying the emptiness of his gut and the white arcs of his ribcage. It hung with arms spread horizontally and head tipped back—a submissive posture, all the more notable because the body was nude and anyone who saw it could tell it was an alpha.

Looking at it, he knew how Hannibal would read the scene. It was split between elements that indicated the motivation of dominance between alphas, and the more cerebral, premeditated nature of the display. Hannibal would see it for what it was—an offering, as if to a god.

Will took the necessary precautions for anonymity and contacted Freddie Lounds, wanting to make sure photographs were posted online before the police could intervene.

Then he waited. Freddie must have been in the area, because it was only a few hours before “Breaking News” appeared on Tattlecrime.com. But it was still late now, and he wondered about the wisdom of trying to pay Hannibal a visit now rather than waiting until morning. It might seem rude to intrude on him so late.

Ultimately, he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Better to give him his gift while it was still nice and fresh, anyway.

***

The lights were on when he pulled up to Hannibal’s house with the cooler full of organs. He rang the bell and waited, his heart thumping in his chest and hands gripped tight around the gift. It was several moments before Hannibal answered—long enough that Will was starting to worry he wouldn’t answer at all. He was wrapped in a black robe when he opened the door, but he didn’t have a hair out of place—nothing to suggest he might have been in bed when Will arrived, which made him feel slightly better.

“Will. I hadn’t been expecting you.” Hannibal’s eyes scanned over him. “Is everything all right? You look anxious.”

He swallowed, and tried to still his twitching fingers. “I’m fine. Sorry, I should’ve called ahead, but I have something for you. And I needed to give it to you in person.”

“Before morning.” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes. While it’s still fresh.”

His eyebrows raised. “You’re making me very curious. Please, do come in.”

Will entered, the door clicking behind him. Then he felt Hannibal at his back, hands ghosting over his shoulders. A shiver ran down his spine.

“May I take your coat?”

Will nodded, though flushed, and slipped his arms out one at a time. He opened his mouth to say “thank you,” but what he actually said was: “That’s new.”

And immediately cringed. But it was strange to have Hannibal suddenly taking his coat when he had never done so before.

“So is you bringing me a gift.” Hannibal hung his jacket with far more care than the cheap thing deserved, then turned to Will. He looked… not hostile, exactly. But calculating.

“I wanted…” Will took a deep breath. He’d just killed someone. In comparison, this conversation should be easy. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I wasn’t sure how to go about this until recently.”

Hannibal took a step closer, scrutinizing his face. “Say what you mean, Will.”

“It’s a courtship gift.”

Hannibal took this in—not surprised, simply thoughtful. His head tilted and his eyes rested on the cooler. “Brave of you to approach me so directly after seeing what I did to the last alpha who did so.”

“During your heat, to be fair.”

“Do you think that was the deciding factor in his fate?”

Will’s eyes flickered away and he shook his head in a jerky, tentative motion.

“Very perceptive of you. Maybe not very wise, however.”

Will set his jaw. “I wasn’t dissuaded by what you did to him. I should have been, I admit, but I wasn’t.”

He took another step toward Will, chin raised regally and eyes fixed on his. Pleased, but unyielding. “What, then?”

“I was…” He tucked his chin in, looking at what he held. “Enraptured, is the best word for it, I think.”

“You felt attraction?”

“I felt _awe_.” Will’s voice was more fierce than he expected it to sound, and his eyes lifted to meet Hannibal’s. “I saw something… untamed. Unrestrained by petty concepts of morality or polite behavior, by all the trappings of civilization. I saw… I saw something with a hunger. And I came here tonight to show you what I saw. To try to show you that I’m worthy of it.”

“And you think you will fare better than him?”

Will forced himself to hold eye contact and not shrink from the intensity of his gaze. In the dim foyer, his eyes looked almost black.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that he did not appreciate the side of you that he encountered that day. He wasn’t worthy of it. I want the chance to prove that I am.”

“A dangerous undertaking.” He took a few steps toward Will. “I like you very much, Will, and I’m willing to give you the opportunity. But I must warn you that my standards are very high, and I am loathe to compromise. And my instincts to challenge alphas through violence are considerably stronger than my instincts to mate with them.”

He nodded. He expected as much. “I accept the risk.”

 

Will presented Hannibal with his gift in the kitchen, setting it on the counter.

When Hannibal's hands carefully unlatched and opened it, there was a moment when both he and Will stopped breathing. Will watched as his eyes fell shut and his nostrils flared. He would be able to tell, surely. The smell was distinct. He would know this was human.

And when Hannibal opened his eyes, attention fixed on the organs nested in ice, uncharacteristically quiet, Will was certain of it. His eyes indulged themselves, taking every detail.

“A rare bouquet,” Hannibal said softly, lifting his eyes to Will’s. “Very bold.”

Will could hear his heart thumping loudly. “Not too bold, I hope.”

“Certainly not.” Will released a long breath, relieved. Hannibal reached into the cooler and pulled out a kidney, turning it over in his hand. “A nice specimen. Healthy, mature.” He did the same with the liver, giving a hum of approval. “All from the same source?”

“Yes.”

“And you slaughtered this animal yourself?” He met Will’s eyes, probing. Allowing him no distance.

“I did.” He swallowed, his throat feeling too tight. “And I left… left something more for you. I wanted it to be special.”

“More special than this?”

He nodded. “More meaningful than just organs in isolation. The body…” He faltered and bit his lip, hesitant to move the conversation out of the shelter of subtext. “I displayed it. And I sent Freddie Lounds to find it so you could see.”

Hannibal must have been staying on top of the news updates, because Will could see the moment the connection clicked in his mind. His eyelids lowered as he regarded Will, gaze roaming over him as if imagining him flaying the body, emptying it, presenting the body to him. An undisguised current of pleasure. He wet his lips, and Will’s eyes zoomed in on the movement. He was sure he could read attraction in the tension of Hannibal’s body. But when Hannibal spoke, his voice was still quite calm.

“How did you feel when you killed him?”

Will smiled slightly, though the thought was not entirely comfortable. “Powerful.”

“Victorious?”

“Yes. But more than that. There was something deeper inside me that was clamoring to get out—and when I killed him, it did, for a short while.”

“I take it this ‘something’ has been brewing for a while?”

Will’s eyes fell to the wet organ in Hannibal’s hand. “It’s a part of me. Buried, like these organs were. In my case, I think you were the one who pulled it out into the open.”

“We keep many things buried in ourselves besides organs. Hopes and fears, parts of selves, and ancient instincts that we declare inappropriate for the modern day. It does not mean they cannot rise and fall to the surface of their own volition, or buoyed by forces outside our control.”

“So what rises to the surface when you enter heat? If that's not too personal a question.”

Hannibal fixed him with a long stare, but when Will lowered his eyes nervously, he said, “You have seen the end result; it is not an unreasonable question. But I want that to be something that you determine for yourself.”

Hannibal began the process of wrapping and transferring the organs from cooler to fridge, while Will watched.

“Do you imagine yourself an apex predator, Will?”

He tilted his head. It was a strange question. “Alphas are conditioned to believe we are, at least to the same extent as omegas. But we’re not the ones with a tendency to eat our mates.”

“An uncommon tendency, nowadays.”

“Still. Why do you ask?”

“I just want you to be observant about what you are feeding, and how.”

Will’s brow furrowed. “I’m very aware of how I’m feeding you.”

“Are you?” Hannibal looked intently at him.

“Murder isn’t something I undertook lightly.”

“Of course not. Which is precisely my point. You are giving more than just a stranger’s organs, and feeding more than just my stomach. You are feeding something inside yourself at the same time as you feed something inside me, and you feed the connection between the two of us that is now burgeoning, though to what extent is yet unclear.”

Hannibal set the last of the organs in the fridge and closed the door. Will looked at him, still struggling to understand his exact meaning, but with some understanding dawning. “I’m giving fuel to shadows,” he said quietly. “Feeding them with my own.”

Hannibal nodded. “Not a bad way to phrase it. Shadows bleed into other shadows and create new and grander forms. They shift as the day or night progresses. They can be a comfort or a danger. They can be predicted base on the movement of light, but they cannot be contained.”

“If that's the case, what will your shadow do when it is fed?”

Hannibal contemplated Will very carefully. “I do believe it would like to consume you whole. Bones and all.”

Will almost laughed, but this uncannily apropos statement just pulled air from his lungs in a shaky exhale. “I don’t know what that actually means in this context.”

“I think you do.”

He paused to think, but shook his head slightly. “I’m grasping for a hold on it.”

“Then I’ll make sure I lead you to understand it. After all, a courtship must have gestures from both sides to be successful.” He closed the cooler with a click. “Best to go home now, Will. I expect Jack Crawford will want you to consult on your crime in the morning, if not sooner.”

When he led Will to the front door and helped him into his coat, his hands lingered on his shoulders.

“Thank you for the gift, Will,” he murmured.

Will turned to find Hannibal’s face much closer than he expected. He stopped breathing, but before he could think of the appropriate next move, Hannibal drew back and lifted Will’s hand, setting a kiss on the back of it.

Will swallowed. “My pleasure.”

And he knew, watching the shift in Hannibal’s regard of him so there was less of that gauze-like cover and more of the fierce, pleased creature beneath—feeling them drawing that much closer together, this bloodied gift held between them in secret—that he truly meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure if this is far enough from traditional A/B/O to warrant the "non-traditional A/B/O" tag, so let me know if that seems misleading? I'm just very into the concept of omegas being frequently aggressive and a bit murder-y and such.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, even with the expectation that some kind of gift would be given to him in turn, Will was staring at a crime scene and feeling like he might have somehow managed to underestimate Hannibal.

The victim was male, mid-30s, alpha, with dark curly hair and stubble all over his jaw. The resemblance to Will would have been easier to overlook if not for the specific way his body was displayed: kneeling in supplication, with his heart removed and cupped in his hands, which were bound together. His abdomen was split open, with several organs removed. The romantic connotations and organ removal were impossible to ignore; he knew immediately that Hannibal was responsible.

Jack wanted to know if this was the same killer who was responsible for the scene last week. There were enough similarities to be found here to justify the assumption—same victim profile, similarly formal arrangement of the bodies, missing organs.

But Will knew this was an entirely different creature. While his own kill had been an overture, this was more like a warning. It made his skin prickle to think about it, but it didn’t feel like an outright _threat_ ; it wasn’t brutal enough to be. This was more thoughtful. A piece sliding into place on the chessboard of their courtship, looming ominously before his king. It was elegant, admittedly more so than Will’s had been, with the organs removed with true surgical precision and the composition carefully balanced. It was skillful. Proud. And almost possessive, the way it lay claim to him, pulled the strings and left him with his heart in his hands.

 _I see you_ , it said. _And you are mine. And I am the true apex predator._

There were, in fact, many things that this scene told him about Hannibal, and some of them would take him time to process fully. But most importantly of all, this was a firm declaration that Hannibal was dangerous even outside the influence of his heat, and he didn’t care to waste time on anyone who couldn’t deal with it.

Will could accept that. He would be lying if he said the sight of his symbolic self being killed and mutilated didn’t unsettle him, but he figured there would be some price to pay for seeking Hannibal as his mate. There was little use continuing if he couldn’t find a way to get over it—assuming he was reading the signals correctly, and this was a caution instead of threat.

He lied and told Jack it was the same killer as last time, muttering vague nonsense about intelligent psychopaths and alphas getting too overzealous with their rivals.

Jack accepted it with a nod and a sigh. “Crazy month for courtships,” he commented. “Between this and cannibalism.”

“Yeah.” _You have no idea,_ he thought.

Will excused himself from the scene as soon as he could. He had plans for dinner with Hannibal in just a few hours, and he wanted time to think over those still-not-fully-processed aspects of the scene before seeing him in person. He had a feeling it would be a bad idea to be either late or unprepared.

 

Hannibal was predictably composed when Will arrived at his house, playing the role of a perfect host. Will considered commenting on the crime scene, but it felt almost gauche to do so right away—Hannibal knew the scene had been discovered, of course, thanks to the ever eager Tattlecrime, and it would be an insult to his skills to act like it could have been indecipherable to Will. Instead, he suspected there would be a dramatic unveiling, and he didn’t want to spoil it.

Hannibal did not disappoint. The dinner set before him featured a rich array of organ meats, all corresponding to those taken from the body earlier that day. Will picked up his knife and fork, and for a moment their eyes met over the table. He paused, not because he was averse to the concept—otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to stomach his own gift to Hannibal—but because he felt he needed to absorb the challenge in Hannibal’s eyes, and respond appropriately.

“I see you took it upon yourself to provide the meat, this time,” he said, keeping his tone even. “Feels like a privilege to have had a chance to have seen the source in person.”

Hannibal smiled, a quiet thing that made his heart pound.

“A partnership should be a fair exchange. If you are to play such games, so should I.”

Will nearly snorted. “You’re not playing the game to follow my lead. You’re playing it to remind me you already have the upper hand.”

Another serene smile. “Was it a helpful reminder?”

“Eye-opening.” He carefully took a bite of food and took his time to chew while Hannibal watched. He met his gaze and swallowed.

“And what did your resting eyes gaze upon when they finally opened to take in the view?”

“A predator.”

Hannibal rapped his fingers on the table, but didn’t look bored so much as impatient. “Clearly.”

“A sadist.”

“One can generally presume sadism from a killer who conducts mutilations antemortem, yes.”

“Someone who’s not a stranger to this kind of killing.”

“Or a former surgeon, who knows the precise operations of the human body.”

Will shook his head slightly. “It was careful. _I_ was careful, but I do forensics for a living. It was precise. And it was elegant. Conducted by someone with more experience manipulating corpses than I have. An artist… perhaps after a long time in retirement.”

Hannibal sipped his wine thoughtfully. “US law differs from Italy’s in many ways. One of those is its concessions to omegas. There, murders under influence of heat will be accepted, but followed by mandatory psychiatric counseling after each incident. I had no interest in undergoing mandatory counseling.”

“Were you afraid it would pull your shadows into the light?”

“No. I simply considered it tedious.”

“So you got your urges to murder out of you in other ways. Premeditated. Bodies arranged as you wanted them. And missing some organs, I’m assuming.”

“On occasion I would take a limb. But usually, yes. It was rewarding in its aesthetic and culinary benefits, but I had to be more careful. My kills were under too much scrutiny to be able to kill in more intimate ways, without worrying about forensic evidence.”

“You had a reputation there?”

He looked at Will with slight wariness. Will pointedly impaled a slice of liver on his fork and ate it, not breaking eye contact. “Yes. I was called  _Il Mostro di Firenze_ —the Monster of Florence. It seemed fitting.”

Will absorbed the confession. “Fitting because you walked in footprints commonly assumed to be those of monsters?”

Hannibal shook his head. “Defining monstrosity by morality is a rather pointless exercise.”

“So, what then?” Will’s brows drew together. “Your appearance wouldn’t place you as one. You walk among people with your disguise intact.”

Hannibal’s gaze was inscrutable. “Perhaps something altogether Other. One never knows what may walk among us, unless it is indiscreet or wanting to be seen. One can only read signs when they manifest.”

Will watched him in silence for a long time without being offered anything further. “And what advice would you give to someone pursuing such a creature?”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and dropped his gaze coyly. “I think I’ve already given my advice. If I was unclear, I suggest you begin decoding.”

If Will thought the evening would become any clearer after that, he was wrong. Hannibal remained cryptic and, considering the intimacy of the meal, somewhat aloof. All the while, Will had the scene of Hannibal’s victim stuck in his mind, overlaid with the meal in front of him and his own image, wondering what exactly he needed to decode.

Hannibal ended the night with another, more lingering kiss on his hand, before turning Will’s hand over to scent his wrist. He lay a second kiss right there on his pulse, and raised his eyes until Will could see his pupils had noticeably swollen. Will returned the gesture and inhaled enough pheromones to make him dizzy.

Their lips met before he knew what was happening. A split second later, the kiss was broken, Hannibal pulling back with his hands on Will’s cheeks. Will was aware of how flushed he now was, and how strong their combined scents had become. He wanted to pull Hannibal in again—the kiss had been too brief and tantalizing—but he knew why Hannibal had stopped so soon. It would have gotten too intense, too quickly, and Hannibal was still waiting for something from him.

As if reading his mind, Hannibal said in an undertone: “Don’t leave me waiting too long, Will.”

It sounded alarmingly like a threat.

***

There was nothing to interrupt Will’s dreams that night except for his own nerves and the echoes of that day. He kept seeing his body double split open and emptied, the futile clutch of his hands around his heart. Regardless, it was enough to deprive him of sleep and leave him restlessly staring at the ceiling, and he spent the rest of the day exhausted.

When night fell again, he thought the exhaustion would grant him a night of blessed rest. It seemed at first like it would—it was a long time before the murky abyss of his dreamscape shifted to reveal distinct forms within it. But when it did, it gave way to flickering candlelight and antlers painted in shadow, a shape that he soon recognized as the skeletal stag man. A red pulse filled the air, an intermittent glow that matched up with the dull drum of his heart.

Claws dragged up his arm too lightly to scratch, just enough to make him tremble in anticipation. The creature had its blank white eyes fixed upon him, unblinking.

 _Feed_ , it hissed, voice again echoing through the space as if coming from everywhere at once. Will could now make out some of the cavernous room that they were in—stony walls and candles in iron fittings, wax melted and reformed in grotesque shapes.

He took a step back automatically, and his back bumped against the wall.

“I fed you,” he protested. “Hunted for you. For him.”

_An offering. But not a sacrifice._

Will wanted to ask about the distinction, but he was paralyzed, transfixed by the drift of black claws across his skin. One suddenly split the surface, and his hiss of pain was answered by a hard grip on his arm and a tongue flicking between sharpened teeth.

The room was hot around him, and the creature’s skin surprisingly soft—more like calfskin than the cold, hard surface he had imagined.

It cut a stripe down his bare chest, blood rushing from the deep wound, and bent down to it, bracketing Will’s face with antlers so he couldn’t move without the points digging into him. It licked along the wound and followed it all the way from his collarbone to his navel. He realized with a start that it was exactly the same cut he had made to gut his victim, just not nearly as deep. Not yet.

The creature began sucking at the wound as well as lapping, teeth digging painfully into the skin, and Will would have pulled away if he wasn’t stuck between antlers and wall. His hands, meanwhile, seemed incapable of following his mental commands to push it away.

When the creature pulled back its mouth was gleaming with blood, open as if panting, frightfully sharp teeth glistening.

 _Sacrifice_ , it said again. And it put a claw against his throat and cut his jugular clean open.

Its mouth was on him in a flash, sucking the blood right from its source, and Will was gasping at the sudden pinching pain, the shock of the lethal wound—but there was a scent in the air that was not blood, and it dulled the jagged edges of his fear and discomfort. It was something good, something thick and sensual, something that was making him hard even though his life was being sucked from his veins.

The creature was plastered against his body and he bucked against it, felt the motion mirrored. Even as he became dizzy and the image swirled in his mind’s eye, he could feel where their cocks slid against each other, could smell that intoxicating scent. The red glow in the air faded and faded, until it was gone, leaving everything dark and bleak. The scent alone followed him as he sank into oblivion.

 

When the last trace of his dream had faded to black, he woke. And he was immediately aware, with shock and certainty, that someone had been in his house, or might even still be there. Because the smell from his dream was still hanging in the air, too strong for its owner to be long gone.

It was disorienting, and his heart rattled in his chest. The dream had entwined the scent too thoroughly with both sex and death—and in return the scent made the dream feel a thousand times more real, even though he knew the scent had simply sneaked into his dream; it hadn’t emerged from the dream itself.

After an anxious moment looking around the house, which bore no visible sign of an intruder, he zeroed in on the traces of the smell, left along doorframes and furniture. And when he realized who, and why, he groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was Hannibal. Approaching heat and scent-marking his house. Uninvited, at 3 am. Of course.

It took him a few minutes to gain enough clarity to realize that the lingering sense of unease wasn’t simply the fault of his nightmare. There was, in fact, something deeply unsettling about having such a predator stalking around his house as he slept, with no forewarning. Not even a greeting or a note. What was he even doing at 3 am? Scent-marking was customarily done in the course of a normal visit to a potential mate, not carried out as a covert operation after midnight. And not even thoroughly covert, because he surely knew Will would smell him upon waking—that was kind of the point of scent-marking. So it wasn’t truly secret, just unnecessarily alarming.

And the fact that Will had simultaneously dreamed about this creature, the monstrous alter ego his brain had cooked up to represent Hannibal, cutting him open and drinking him dry was also unsettling. It felt like a warning—but if it was, the message was wasted on him, because all he could think about was Hannibal drinking him dry in a much more lewd sense. Wondering if the scent of Hannibal’s full heat was even better than the glimpses he’d had so far. Wondering, as arrogant as the thought seemed, if he had triggered the heat himself, because it seemed too soon for Hannibal to have another heat—it should be every two to three months, and it had only been about a month. But older omegas often had irregular cycles, he knew that. And the chances of Will specifically triggering a heat were slim. Yet the thought of Hannibal’s body choosing him, preparing itself to mate with him, wanting to be ready and fertile for him…

He buried his face in his pillow, blocking Hannibal’s scent, because his arousal had reached the point of inconvenience. He needed to reclaim vital space for logic before he ended up driving over an hour to bang on Hannibal’s door and proposition him, doubtless getting his throat ripped out as a result.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get back to sleep, and his brain seemed incapable of regaining logic that day. It was the smell. Hannibal had marked his clothes, his hairbrush, even his shoes. Every time he got a whiff he was reminded of the dream and of Hannibal in heat—and the whiffs were near constant due to Hannibal’s strategic marks.

He felt like he was losing his mind. He was fairly sure, as the day progressed, that he was. Because the more he thought of his dream, the less afraid he was of what it showed him, and the more he _wanted_. It was an unhealthy amount of want, and it drove him forward with far less restraint than he should have had. It followed him through his work day and pushed him into a search for something very specific in Baltimore’s shops. Until finally he stepped up to Hannibal’s front door that night.

It was too late now to worry about whatever had brought him to this point. He swallowed hard, told himself he probably deserved whatever terrible thing happened next, and rang the bell. Hannibal opened the door, and _god_. It took Will a moment to compose himself, as good as Hannibal smelled, and Hannibal looked fairly disoriented himself at Will’s sudden appearance.

“As happy as I am to see you, Will, this is not a good time for you to visit. I am very near heat, and you know my history. I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“Why scent-mark my house, if you didn’t want me to show up today?”

“Scent-marking is a normal part of a courtship, and one that tends to be fairly intuitive at a certain point in one’s heat cycle. I certainly didn’t plan for you to show up nearly twenty-four hours later with no announcement to confront me about it.”

“That’s not what this is about. But it also wasn't normal, not like _that_.”

Hannibal tilted his head curiously. “And how did _that_ make you feel?”

“Felt like I was losing touch with reality. Still does. You've put me in a feedback loop where no normal rules of morals or etiquette apply. They’re not relevant, because all I see, all I _smell_ , is you in a vacuum. And that changes me. In ways I can’t control.”

“In what ways?”

“I killed for you.”

“Surely that’s not my influence alone. That was something that already lurked inside you; we’ve discussed this.”

“I think…” His voice fell to nearly a whisper. He thought of the creature draining his blood, and how even as he died he was rutting against it. “I think I want to _die_ for you.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit up. “Is that what you intended by coming here tonight?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. If you asked, I probably would. Don’t think I could deny you.”

“You find yourself willing to devote yourself entirely to my needs, regardless of the sacrifice it may require.”

Will nodded, but had to stop himself from flinching at the word “sacrifice,” too near to the dream he had had. Too unnervingly appropriate for this situation. “Is that what you want? A sacrifice?”

“That might depend what you’re offering.”

“Well, that's why I'm here. May I come in?”

Hannibal looked doubtful, but he opened the door more widely. “Be my guest.”

Will entered, his heart beating wildly. Hannibal’s nose flared—he could surely smell Will’s fear, and more than a touch of arousal. And perhaps the thing that lay hidden in his pocket. He’d bought it special, after considering and rejecting the idea of something less specifically tailored to the occasion.

Blood bonds were out of fashion, but the ceremonial knives were still available, and it hadn’t taken too much searching to find a shop in Baltimore able to supply something appropriate. Damasque steel and a handle inlaid with tiger’s eye. This wasn’t going to be a bond, but it seemed close enough in its significance.

Will drew the knife from his pocket and held it toward Hannibal, handle-first and still sheathed. He didn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes, but hurriedly said, “I’m not asking for it from you. Not a bond. I’m offering my blood. Offering for you to take mine, yourself. Something to sate your appetite.”

The air was tense and filled with the humidity of pre-heat. “This is reckless,” Hannibal said quietly.

“I know.”

“I could kill you. Take more from you than just what you are offering.”

“I know.” He shook the knife at him. “Take it. As much as you want from me. I figure… either you’ll kill me eventually, and all of this is preamble to that—and it’s better to get over the pretense now—or you won’t, and you’ll hold back. Or maybe… maybe this is some kind of fucked up attempt at survival, offering enough of myself to feed you that you won’t need kill me to have a taste. But I know what I’m offering.”

“Do you?” Hannibal took the knife and unsheathed it to inspect it, despite his skeptical tone. “The symbolism is profound. And when you say ‘feed,’ you do mean it literally, don’t you?”

Will nodded.

“That is not part of the tradition from which this knife derives.”

“I know,” Will said again. “It needed to be special. More than just a pocketknife. This was the closest I could think of.”

“To what end? To prove your dedication?”

“Yes.” He watched the slow, thoughtful turn of the knife in Hannibal’s hand, then felt compelled to say, “I had a dream about it. That you—sort of you—cut open my veins and drank my blood. You demanded it as a sacrifice.” In the short silence that followed, he added, “You killed me. Drank me dry.”

“And yet you still came here.” He couldn’t read this tone of voice. Warning? Marveling?

“I needed to. Your smell. The dream. Everything. I feel like I’m dying already, like you’ve stolen the part of me that can be rational. And once you’re in heat I… I’ll know. I wouldn’t be able to stay away, unless you turned me down now once and for all. I’d be dead either way. I wanted to die offering, not trying to take.”

“You sound desperate, Will.” But his tone wasn’t disapproving. “It makes one wonder if your biggest fear isn’t of death, but rather that you might offer so much of yourself yet have it left untaken.”

“Maybe. Does it make a difference?”

“Perhaps not.” Will endured one more moment of scrutiny before Hannibal said, “Come with me to the sitting room, and I will relieve you of your fear.”

Will followed, of course, and was directed to sit on an emerald armchair, the twin of which was notably missing—an observation that made him blanche, remembering how soaked with blood it had been, apparently beyond the point of salvaging. Hannibal’s hand rested on his shoulder, and it wasn’t entirely reassuring.

“I do appreciate the gesture, Will. Very much.”

Hannibal slid his fingers to the pulse that raced in his jugular, and then pressed the flat of the blade there. Will stopped breathing, and Hannibal inhaled slowly.

“I can smell your fear,” he said. “Slightly sour. Acrid. Better to relax.”

“Hard to relax with a knife at my throat.”

Hannibal smiled. “Please forgive my playfulness in this regard. I’ve never had a victim offer himself so willingly to me. I’m savoring the experience.”

Will’s mouth was dry, but he couldn’t bring himself to swallow with the chill of the blade held against his throat, even lightly. Then it dragged down to his collar and sliced the threads that held the top button on. It fell away with a clatter onto the floor.

His breathing quickened. He cut another button off, and another. Will could have laughed at how quickly it felt like they had switched from death threats to a strip tease, but the tip of the blade scratched his sternum and he was suddenly aware of just how dangerously sharp the thing was. The pain wasn’t intense, but he felt something wet ooze from the scratch and Hannibal was quickly leaning in and staring at the patch of bare skin with its slowly welling blood.

He sank slowly to his knees in front of Will, eyes transfixed on his handiwork. The rest of Will’s buttons were quickly done away with, and Hannibal pulled the shirt open, the knife tapping against his ribcage. Then it smoothed sideways over the bloody scratch, lifting blood onto its blade. Hannibal examined it, then licked carefully along the side, tongue gathering blood and eyes locking on Will’s. Will’s lips parted at the sight, and then…

It was almost more a taste in the air than a smell. He looked at Hannibal for any confirmation, and when his pupils fattened, Will knew. And he could have hyperventilated right then. His fingers gripped tight on his thighs, trying to distract and restrain himself. But he felt like he was on fire. Slick. Hannibal was slick, just from the taste of him.

And maybe the position didn’t hurt, either. He felt obscene for just thinking about it, but fuck, _this_ was obscene. Hannibal’s tongue flickered out to run across his lips and, yes, Will’s body was definitely responding.

“Hannibal,” he said, slightly hoarse. “If you’re going to do this that goddamn sensually you’re going to send me into rut.”

Hannibal’s eyes glinted at that. And he tapped the flat of the blade against Will’s chest. “When was the last time you were in rut?”

“Uh.” He could barely think. “Ages ago. Not since I was a teenager, I think. I keep a lid on it. Hormone stabilizers to prevent a fluke. But, uh. I don’t think they’re strong enough to counteract what you’re sending out right now. You’re… fuck, you’re right on the cusp, aren’t you? I… I didn’t realize…”

“I believe you are speeding the process along, in fact.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something there that was almost resentful, as if he didn’t like conceding so much power to Will. But his eyes were busy tracking over every inch of Will’s skin, making him difficult to read. And the admission, itself, was so erotic—the thought that Will’s scent, presence, even taste, were causing Hannibal’s body to prepare to mate—that Will couldn’t trust his perceptions at all right now. He was too busy watching the pink of Hannibal’s lips and silently praying that he’d reach for his zipper next. Hannibal was clearly turned on—his scent was proof enough of that. But Will couldn’t forget that Hannibal had been in heat, full-blown heat, each time he had brutally murdered an alpha. He would have been desperately horny then, too, and he hadn’t fucked anyone despite it—only killed and eaten them.

Will groaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “Then please,” he said. “Take what you want from me, whatever it is. Don’t leave me like this.”

Hannibal nodded, lifted Will’s arm, and pushed up his sleeve past his elbow.

“If you’re sure.”

Will gave a sharp nod, and Hannibal’s eyes met his for a moment. They looked almost black in the dim room. Then Hannibal held the knife along the vein of his arm, just below his elbow, and cut a neat incision, deep enough that bright red blood immediately sprung to the surface and began spilling down his arm. Hannibal dragged his tongue up the spill, making sure none went to waste, and fastened his lips over the cut, drinking it down with alarming thirst. The suction caused an unpleasant pinch that made Will’s fingers flex, a kind of spasm. One of Hannibal’s hands went to soothe his uneasy fingers, while the other, in a contradicting signal, gripped tighter to Will’s opposite arm as if prepared to hold him back should he try to flee.

A fresh burst of slick filled the air—and it occurred to Will that if violence could be arousing to Hannibal, it would at least partially answer the question of how his previous heats had ended the way they did.

The scent made Will’s head swim, and he gritted his teeth and swore beneath his breath. But it kept going, and the air filled with the sticky-sweet scent, like cherries turned overripe. Hannibal’s teeth dragged along his vein, pulling the fluid more quickly to the wound and nipping along the cut with surprising sharpness. Will watched brilliant red spill under his lips and paint them as they moved over his skin. His tongue dipped into the fluid and Will couldn’t restrain the small grunt that escaped at the sight. The noise made Hannibal pull away to look at him, and he flushed heavily in embarrassment. This shouldn’t be turning him on.

“Still feeling in danger of going into rut?”

He nodded foggily. “And your heat…?”

“Is close. And indeed very liable to trigger your rut if I am already having this effect on you.”

“Then I… I should go.” It was the last thing he wanted, but he also didn’t want to impose his rut on Hannibal when he had only intended to give him an offering.

“Do you not believe me capable of handling you in rut?” His tone was sharp.

“No, of course you could, but I don’t want to put you in that position.”

“The position you have put me in is on my knees, consuming you. You hardly need to worry about such a thing.” His thumb pressed over the wound, holding it closed as he spoke. “Besides, you need to maintain a certain blood pressure to fully initiate a rut. If you don’t, your body realizes it needs to prioritize things other than an erection. And at a certain threshold of blood loss, your blood pressure will become compromised enough to prevent it.”

Will’s heart fluttered. “How much are you planning to drink, exactly?”

“Enough to ward off a rut, as is evidently necessary.”

“A lot, then.” He frowned. “Won't that make you sick?”

“Yes. And no, it won't. Do you want to withdraw consent?”

Will hesitated, but shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to leave Hannibal smelling like he did, and at the moment his blood seemed a fair price to stay. “I want you to keep going.”

Hannibal looked more pleased than Will realized was possible.

So he drank. More and more, mouth painted red and Will’s arm stained with it, until Will found himself becoming groggy; until the room spun a lazy circle around him, turning one way and then another. Then he closed his eyes.

“I’m not feeling great,” he mumbled. “Dizzy.”

“To be expected,” came the response. He opened his eyes briefly and saw a trickle of blood go down Hannibal’s chin. “The result of low blood pressure, combined with unsustainable arousal.”

“You mean if you weren’t close to triggering my rut, everything would feel peachy keen?”

“Likely not. In fact, arousal is probably one of the reasons you are tolerating this so well at the moment. Otherwise your survival instinct would kick in.” He ran a finger down the now weak line of the vein in Will’s arm, causing another small bubble at the surface that he lapped up. For a moment Will thought he saw the red of the blood reflected in his eyes, a crimson rim around his swollen pupils, but then it sank into darkness.

“Survival instinct’s still there,” he said blearily. “Scared. But. I’m committed to it. Figured I might end up dead anyway. Are you going to do it?”

“Kill you?”

It was becoming hard to find Hannibal’s eyes in the blurring room. The low light flickered like candles, and the shadows seemed long and twisted, like branches in the darkest woods.

“Yeah. I… don’t know how I feel about that.”

“I don’t intend to kill you. But you will be close.”

“How close?”

The shadows behind Hannibal’s head looked like antlers now, and he could not shake the double image of the stag man.

“You may find your reality becoming unstable. Blackouts, even hallucinations.”

He wasn’t even drinking now… was he? Will saw blood and fangs and antlers, blood down his arm, blood on his stomach. Hannibal blinked at him with white eyes, irises vanished.

“Already got to the hallucination stage, I think.”

“What do you see?”

“You, but… different. A creature from my dreams. Antlers. Look like you were dipped in ink. You told me to offer this to you.”

“Did I?” Shadows grew and stretched behind him, shifting on their own. Will squinted at them, but couldn’t make them out. “What else did I tell you?”

“Told me you were hungry. Needed an offering, and I gave you those organs… and then said you needed a sacrifice, not just an offering. Then I came and did this. Cuz… you told me to. And I was losing your mind. With your scent.”

“Do you know the significance of an alpha offering such a sacrifice?”

He could barely summon the strength to shake his head. The shadows were taking on their own lives, forms divorced from the objects that cast them.

“It is meaningful for an alpha to demonstrate that their care for their mate exceeds their care for their own well-being. That they are willing to die for them.”

“I am.”

“I know.” He smiled, and it looked strange in the twilight of the room, canines glinting eerily bright. “Others have died for me as well, but not by their choice. They did not know who I was, and what I need.”

The shadows looked like people now, vague ghostly shapes. Distorted, torn in places, leaking glimmers of light like organs spilling to the ground. Crowding around behind Hannibal, an entourage of shades. Something he carried with him.

“How many have you killed?” Will asked, watching them rise and fade, Hannibal’s inky silhouette encroaching upon the light. “Over the years. I never asked. I think I can see them, now.”

“I haven’t kept count. But there have been many. Does the exact number matter?”

It was blackness now, roiling blackness in his vision, light and color consumed. He closed his eyes and found no difference in what he saw.

“No,” he said, after what may have been seconds or minutes—time too distorted to tell.

“You’re not repulsed that there have been so many?”

Will considered the roiling blackness and the weak but steady beat of his heart. No desire to withdraw from the man who was draining him. “No. If that is what you are… what you need… I’d even do it myself. I promise.”

“You swear on the blood that falls from your veins and into my body? That you will have me—and this creature of your dream world that reflects my own shadow—as your own, and offer your blood, your life, to preserve mine? This becomes a blood bond of sorts if such promises are given.”

His mouth stretched into a weak smile. “I don’t think I’m… in any condition to be making choices about blood bonds, oaths, anything. I feel… blackout drunk, almost. Honestly. But I… I swear it.”

Hannibal licked a wet stripe up Will’s arm. Then he heard a short, sharp exhale, and he couldn’t see the cause, but a finger pressed against his lips.

“My blood. Drink.”

Will opened his mouth and took in the coppery sweet taste on his lips. He moaned, tingling warmth filling his chilled body from the sheer intimacy of the act.

“Hannibal… your heat, I can’t… I’m too weak for anything.”

“I know. Don’t worry, my dear. I will hunt for you now, and replenish what I have taken.”

Will was too tired now to worry about the implications of this, let alone argue. Hannibal eased him back until he lay limply in the armchair, the remnants of light in the room spinning around him.

Hannibal kissed him, and all he could taste was blood, as if his very skin was made of it.

The taste followed him as he finally fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my exchange partner - since all of this was really just me running wild with my idea, I wanted to give you a chance to make any requests for the final chapter, if you want. Basic plan is spooky power bottom!Hannibal, but if you'd like to see a different direction or anything else - more wendigo stuff, ominous vaguely demonic mpreg, whatever, let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! I had a rough time getting this chapter to a point where I was satisfied with it (hallucinatory blood drinking is a hard act to follow, I think), but here it is. The rating has gone up to E, and I've also added some tags - though nothing too unusual, I don't think.

For a long time, Will wavered between full unconsciousness and a twilight zone. Opening his eyes, he caught only glimpses of shapes or movement before returning to his dreams, where he imagined he was floating in an ocean of blood. The sky was dark and stormy above him, and blood splashed over him, filled his mouth and coated his skin until he could not distinguish his own limbs from the sea below. It looked almost black in the moonlight.

When he woke completely, it took him a while to realize he was lying on a bed, not floating in blood. He was still wearing his shirt—if it could still be considered one with all of its buttons torn away—but now one arm was bandaged where Hannibal had cut him, and the other had a small tube feeding into it, leading up to a bag of blood that hung from a rack. Hannibal was adjusting it when he saw Will was awake, and lay a hand on his shoulder. He felt very warm.

“You should be feeling better soon,” Hannibal said. “Fresh blood. You’ve had nearly three pints already.”

Will wasn’t sure what to say to the idea that someone’s stolen blood was now flooding his veins, and he was distracted by the realization that despite how close he was, there was none of the smell he remembered from when Hannibal was drinking his blood. He wrinkled his nose and said, “I can’t smell you.”

“I had to use scent blockers to hunt, though they should wear off soon. Otherwise I would have been far too obvious when tracking and transporting him. It was risky enough as an impulse kill.”

“Who was he?”

Hannibal brushed a curl of hair away from Will’s eyes. “His identity is irrelevant. His role in restoring you to full health is far more important than any details of his life.”

Will frowned. He could just about accept the murder—no worse than what they had already done, surely. But he was starting to remember with more clarity what had happened before he lost consciousness, and it wasn’t making much sense.

“Hannibal, I’m… fuzzy on the details of what just happened. Did you really drink so much of my blood that I passed out? How is that even _possible_?”

His eyes dragged along Will’s body. “All that blood and still my thirst for you could not be sated, not entirely. But it will be soon.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Which is?” After a moment of brief silence, in which Will couldn’t seem to pin down precisely what he had meant, Hannibal said, “You worry too much about details that are unimportant. We are who we are. Instincts, potential, manifestations. Creatures of the world. Fate brought you to me, matched us perfectly. Both predators more deadly than modern human society tolerates.”

“Saying we’re predators explains the killing. Doesn’t explain draining me of blood.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He tilted his head. “Halfway, maybe.”

“My appetites are not common, and the manifestation of my instincts even less so.” Hannibal’s hand trailed down to Will’s wrist and settled on his pulse thoughtfully. “I was delighted when you appeared with your blood offering, because I would happily consume you in every sense—but this allowed you to remain alive, so I can keep you as my own.”

“As… your mate?” Saying it felt almost presumptuous, even after everything.

Hannibal’s mouth curled into a smile, and Will’s heart skipped a beat. “You did make your blood oath. While it’s not equivalent to a mating, it is as powerfully charged as one, symbolically speaking. You’re bound to me, and you need only regain your strength to take further steps.”

He still felt fairly weak. “Feels like that could take a while.”

“Not with my help.” Hannibal tapped the bag of blood. “The last transfusion was from an unwilling donor, but this is mine. Not enough to fully supply you, of course, but enough to hasten the healing process.”

He furrowed his brow. “Because of the blood bond?”

“Not exactly. But details are unimportant for now.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “You’re still holding out on me. Hiding something of what you are.”

“You know precisely what I am.” He eased onto the bed next to Will. “You have always known who I am, deep inside. Only the constraints of your conscious mind hold you back from the truth of it.”

Will shivered at the radiating warmth of Hannibal’s body, so close to him. He was like a furnace. “Are you in heat now?”

“Yes.”

He rolled onto his side to watch Hannibal unbuttoning his shirt with careful fingers. “You’re the most composed omega in heat I’ve ever seen.”

“No, Will.” His voice was almost a growl. It sent the hairs at the back of Will’s neck prickling. “For me this is not composure. Not control.”

His shirt fell from his shoulders and Will got a whiff of him—he was sweating off the blockers. He smelled like temptation incarnate. “I gave you my blood because I could not bear to wait longer still to have you. I killed for you, without adequate time to plan. And I’m letting you have me at a time no other has.”

Will found his tongue tripping, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. “You’ve never had sex during heat?”

“Only outside of it—though even then I have not been penetrated. I killed, or as well as killed, every partner who approached me during heat.” He locked eyes with Will over his shoulder for a moment. It went unspoken—r _ealize how rare a gift you have been given._

_Realize how terrible it would be to accept without grace._

The knowledge that Will was the only one to be allowed this particular experience with Hannibal rendered him nearly speechless. Hannibal eased his pants off and Will pressed his face into his shoulder, inhaling.

“There’s still an IV in my arm,” he mumbled, though he was loathe to protest this.

“You don’t have to move for the moment,” Hannibal replied, and turned to survey him, pressing him down until he lay flat on the bed. He kissed him, dragging his teeth over Will’s lips, and crawled over him, hands pushing aside the remnants of Will’s ruined shirt and smoothing his hands over his bare chest. Hannibal drew his cock to hardness against Will’s stomach and left a patch of slick on his skin. Then, with a smirk, he turned gracefully so he was facing the opposite direction and kneeling directly over Will’s face.

Will’s mouth watered—the air now reeked of his heat, and Will could see where he was glistening wet. Hannibal lowered himself and Will found himself automatically proffering his tongue until it captured the sweet-musky taste of his slick. He moaned and heard Hannibal’s hiss of pleasure as he rubbed himself over Will’s tongue. Will reached for his hip with his free arm, and Hannibal pulled his hand up further until it was skimming over his ribs, and then over a nipple. Will took the hint and pinched lightly around it, rolling it as best he could from this angle, and Hannibal sighed in satisfaction, rocking his hips slowly against him. Will’s mouth was wide open and his tongue was eager, seeking to consume every drip of slick, and the feel of the plump nub beneath his fingers was enough to make him groan, body twisting in frustrated arousal. Hannibal’s hands rested on his chest, but that contact wasn’t enough. He pushed his face up, panting in the humid air he was granted, but Hannibal pressed down to keep his head firmly planted against the pillow. It was almost suffocating, but he groaned dimly and let his tongue thrust up, in, as far as it could possibly go. He lost himself in it.

Hannibal rose up and turned again, leaving Will momentarily confused, as absorbed in his task as he was. Then he felt the slick slide of the omega’s thighs against his stomach, and Hannibal’s mouth on his jaw. He licked over Will’s chin, his lips, the corners of his mouth—cleaning his own slick off his face, Will realized. His lips parted, panting slightly, and Hannibal’s tongue delved between them, seeking his taste in every inch of Will’s mouth. Will opened wide to him, and hands pressed against the sides of his jaw, holding it while Hannibal thrust into it with his tongue. Will couldn’t raise his head or pull away, and he didn’t want to—just accepted it, let his jaw fall lax as Hannibal licked behind his teeth and twirled around his tongue.

When Hannibal finally pulled back, Will was left gasping, wide-eyed, and hard as a rock. He was also, he realized, feeling much more alert.

Hannibal’s pupils were like twin black holes, growing like they were prepared to swallow him whole. He licked his lips, and Will tried to lift his head for another kiss, but was held back by the hands still firm on his jaw.

“Patience, my dear,” Hannibal said, stroking the stubble on his cheek. “We will both be sated soon.”

His hands slid from Will’s jaw to his neck, pressing lightly along his jugular.

“Your pulse has improved,” he murmured. “Are you hard?”

Will nodded, feeling sweat beading at his brow.

“Good.”

Hannibal unzipped Will’s pants and pulled them down along with his underwear. His eyes lit upon Will’s cock, and he edged far enough back that he could lean down and lick right up the shaft, tongue curling to collect the fluid beading at the tip. His throat rumbled, somewhere between a growl and a purr.

He straddled Will very deliberately, sliding their cocks together, which were not as different in size as one might expect for an alpha and omega. Will found himself thinking of Hannibal’s assertion that he had never been penetrated, and wondering how versatile Hannibal might expect their roles to be outside of heat. Hannibal looked as if he knew precisely what Will was thinking. His expression never veered from smug, right up until he moved a bit further forward, lined up, and slid back on Will’s cock slowly but unflinchingly, letting out a deep, satisfied noise.

Will groaned. He tried to thrust up, but Hannibal hissed and clawed a hand on his chest.

“I will set the pace,” he said. “You behave and let me take my pleasure.”

Will grabbed a fist of sheets in an effort to keep himself under control, and nodded.

“Excellent,” Hannibal said. He moved slowly, but took it deep, rolling his hips and kneading into Will’s chest. It was beautiful to see his face flushing and eyelids lowering as his distant demeanor was chipped away by arousal. Will was losing himself in the sight, in the sensation—so hot and tight around him. Hannibal leaned forward, changing the angle, and tugged Will’s head forward for a kiss. The feeling of Hannibal panting against his mouth at the same time as Will was deep inside him made him gasp and his hips jut upward involuntary, and Hannibal swiftly corrected him with a growl and a bite to his lip that stopped just short of drawing blood.

Will snarled in reflex, and clawed at the sheets to resist the instinct to grab Hannibal’s hips and fuck him harder, faster, to break this leisurely pace that was as torturous as it was exquisite. Rather than seeming bothered, Hannibal responded to his snarl and tensed muscles with a purr.

“Your control is admirable,” he said. “I can see how terribly the beast inside you yearns to be set free, to take and fuck with abandon. It will have its chance, but not yet.”

Will tried to formulate a question, but he was beginning to feel dazed, and this time he knew it wasn’t from blood loss. He glanced to the side, and the blood bag was almost empty. And he did not feel chilled, like he did when he was drained—he felt heat surging straight through his core, strong enough to momentarily blank out his thoughts and leave him staring glassy-eyed at Hannibal. The next thing he knew, Hannibal was leaning into his neck, scenting him.

Then it hit him. _Rut._ _You’re going into rut._

“Hannibal—”

“It’s not a rut.”

He blinked. “What?”

“It’s my blood. My influence.” He sounded so pleased, nuzzling against Will’s chin and nipping lightly beneath his jaw. “You’re becoming attuned to me and my needs.”

He shifted his hips and pushed back on Will’s cock, changing the angle. His eyes fell shut and he looked momentarily lost in bliss. Will was so entranced by the sight that he didn’t think to question this statement, until Hannibal added, opening his eyes again to stare into Will’s: “You’re not to come until I say so.”

Will looked up at him, hazy but restless. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’ll see soon,” Hannibal said. He looked like more words were on the tip of his tongue, but he sank into silence, and Will, hoping to draw something out of him, reached for his cock without thinking.

When his fingers wrapped around it Hannibal growled quietly, but allowed it. Will spread the wetness at the tip and gave it a stroke. It was so slick and smooth, so responsive to his touch, that just holding it felt satisfying—even more so when he made Hannibal arch into his hand with a small, breathless noise. Will squeezed and rubbed over the head, wanting more of this response, and he got it. As Hannibal sped his pace, his eyes fell intently on Will’s lips, and then his throat. Will’s heart gave a jarring leap before Hannibal moaned and clenched around him, eyes falling shut as he sank down as far as he could on Will’s cock and ground against him as he came, fingernails digging so hard into Will’s skin that they left marks.

Will thought that might satisfy him for the moment, but he was wrong. Hannibal looked all the more incensed, huffing and scraping his nails down Will’s chest until he hissed in pain.

Hannibal worked his hips erratically, eyes blazing. Will was finding it very difficult to hold back after the way Hannibal had clenched around him when he came, and with the way Hannibal was reacting…

“Is it my knot you want?” he asked.

Hannibal snarled and shoved himself back on Will’s cock hard enough to draw a grunt from them both. Sweat was starting to shine on his neck and chest. His eyes were fiery, almost furious, and they went again to Will’s neck. Will had a thought. “Or is it my flesh?”

Hannibal huffed, breathing heavily. His eyes shut and he shivered. “Both,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m not used to my heats progressing in such a way. Your taste was so enticing, and we are yet unmated. And if you’re not my mate…”

“I’m potential dinner?”

Hannibal only responded with the heaviness of his eyes tracing along Will’s body. Will was burning to fuck him in earnest, and settled for running his hands gently over his thighs. “Then mate me, if that’s what you want.”

“Not yet. Not until…” Hannibal growled and closed his eyes. His pace slowed to almost a halt before he pulled off of Will entirely, reached over, and crisply removed the IV from his arm, causing a small bead of blood to appear. Hannibal’s eyes lingered on it for a moment before returning to Will.

“There is one way to resolve this,” Hannibal said. “Find me. Catch me. And if you can mount me, we will be mated.”

So saying, he slipped off the bed and turned to walk out of the room, bare feet padding softly. Considering his announcement, he seemed in no particular rush—but then, it would take Will a moment to absorb the information. He was still lying in bed when Hannibal shut the door behind him.

Even though Hannibal had said to “catch” him, Will had the feeling this would be less a chase than a fight. Apex predators didn’t need to flee. But they would wait for something to wander into their path before striking.

Will’s heart was pounding, but he dutifully got out of the bed, shedding the last of the clothes that clung to him. But he was weary. Had all this not been enough? The gift, the acceptance of a gift, the sacrifice?

The answer came to him as naturally as the question: _Sacrifice proves you to be devoted; it does not prove you to be equal._

And he had brushed paths with Hannibal at his most wild—he’d seen the evidence, the afterglow, even the hunger itself. Seen him using that power in an absolutely controlled and calculated way. But he had not seen him in action, not really. And he found that a bit concerning. Hannibal clearly wanted him, but Will didn’t know how much that mattered when Hannibal himself had admitted he was not in control, and fighting against patterns long since established. This could easily be more than a simple challenge before mating.

The hallway outside the bedroom was dark, only illuminated by moonlight streaming in the windows. It made hairs rise on the back of his neck as he looked around. Hannibal probably wouldn’t set up an attack here—too much chance of someone falling over the railing and being injured in an impersonal way. But Will still felt uneasy. The other rooms on the top floor were marked with Hannibal’s scent, just enough to make him second-guess himself when he saw they were empty—wondering if Hannibal was, perhaps, hidden just around the corner. But there was nothing.

He proceeded down the stairs and through the house’s mazelike corridors. Everything was dark, though the curtains were open wide and streetlights cast as much glow on this floor as the moon had above. It was disorienting, and he already felt like he wasn’t quite himself. This thing that _wasn’t_ a rut indeed felt little like what he remembered of rut from his youth—less like a reckless blaze of fire, more like smoldering coals under his skin, simmering in his gut. The darkness around him shifted more restlessly than he had ever seen, as if it contained swarms of flies that remained just beyond his ability to clearly perceive. He contemplated turning on the lights. He wasn’t sure if that was cheating, but he couldn’t resist flipping a switch when he entered the sitting room, just to test. It was unresponsive. Hannibal must have gone for the breakers to make sure this game was held on his terms.

Will exhaled. The heads and skulls of various animals were in strange abundance in this room, and their multitude of antlers cast shadows likes branches in a forest. And he knew, instinctively, that this is where Hannibal would be hiding. Where it all started.

There were only so many places to hide, but if he hunted, peeking into every corner and crevice, Will would have the disadvantage. Hannibal could all too easily pounce upon hearing his footsteps approaching, and even if Will was expecting it, it would be a challenging fight to win. Hunting him would require something different. And Will had an idea of what he wanted.

He swallowed. “I know you’re in here, Hannibal,” he said, as evenly as he could.

The darkness said nothing in return.

He walked very slowly, intentionally, around the perimeter of the room, eyes quickly checking each shadow and scanning around him for movement. It was hard to tell what was solid and what was simply shadow. “I know why you’re doing this. You’re not just testing a potential mate—you’re testing the potential father of your children. That’s why you didn’t want me to come yet, wasn’t it? As unlikely as it would be for our first mating to end in pregnancy, you couldn’t risk it.”

A voice came out of nowhere, making him jump despite himself. “Parenting my children would present unique obstacles. More than just a taste for blood is required.”

In the vast, marble-floored room, he couldn’t pin down the source. But it seemed all too close, and he felt a chill down his spine.

“Then let me prove myself. I’ve found you, or close enough—let me try to catch you.” When there was no response, Will said, “I’ll hunt you for as long as you’ll let me. But didn’t you want either my knot or my flesh? The sooner you end this, the sooner you can have one or the other.”

Will wasn’t sure this approach would be entirely successful, and at first, there was nothing. Then the shadows stirred between the solitary armchair and the fireplace. A faint outline was visible in the limited light before vanishing behind the fireside sofa and the table at its back, crowded with horned skulls that created uneasy shapes in the moonlight. Will moved cautiously toward the motion from the opposite direction, around the far side of the sofa, only to catch just a glimpse of a silhouette as Hannibal moved clockwise around it in a crouch.

Will exhaled sharply, following but already growing tired of this game of chase. He didn’t expect sudden motion immediately across the sofa from him, behind the skull-crowded table—just a blur in the shifting dark as it vaulted onto the corner of the sofa, immediately gaining the higher ground. Will tried to dodge, but only got far enough that once tackled, he fell to the floor instead of being smashed against the wall. The wind was knocked out of him as his back hit marble, and he couldn’t see with this shadow looming over him—he could only hear the snarl. He struggled blindly, lashing out and just barely managing to flip their positions. But in the process, teeth lodged themselves so deeply in his forearm that he was sure they broke skin. In the ray of light that fell across them, he could see Hannibal staring up at him with feral eyes and dark liquid trickling from the corner of his mouth. Will tried to pull him away by his hair, but he just bit down harder, making Will growl and change tactics.

Rather than try to free himself, he focused on ignoring the pain and knocking Hannibal’s legs aside to seek entrance. When Will’s cock slipped between his cheeks, Hannibal released his arm, yanked back a leg and aimed a kick to the middle of Will’s sternum. It connected, and Will once again lost his breath as he fell backward, coughing.

Hannibal quickly pulled back into a crouch, but did not pounce. Will growled again, from frustration and _want_ , and mirrored his position. The scent of heat was heavy in the air and his veins felt laced with fire. He was fairly sure now that Hannibal didn’t really want to kill him—Will would have been far worse injured by now if he did. He just wanted Will to prove himself. So although Hannibal bared his teeth so aggressively that it gave him a jolt of adrenaline, Will didn’t hesitate. He lunged, and they scrambled together for dominance. One of them even kicked over an end table and sent it clattering to the floor. Even if he was holding back, Hannibal was difficult to overpower. Will finally managed to get him on his back, grab his wrists, and pin them down with his full weight. Then he saw Hannibal’s teeth flash—sharp teeth, inhumanly sharp—and it made him blink and stare, trying to clear the confusion of the dim light.

But they didn’t disappear, and his heart leapt. For a moment his brain was suspended between impulses of fear and lust, but his body was firmly on the side of desire. It just wanted Hannibal, _needed_ him, needed to mate him—and Hannibal’s struggling was now only the barest resistance for the sake of the game. It was easy to spread him open, and their eyes locked as Will finally sank inside him with a moan. Hannibal arched his back, unable to disguise his own satisfaction. But his eyes were wild and his breath uneven, and his teeth snapped forward. It wasn’t until his legs wrapped around Will’s thighs that he realized Hannibal was trying to pull him closer, not fight him.

Then he had to force his muscles to go counter to his instincts, releasing Hannibal’s wrists and letting himself fall closer toward the unearthly glimpse of his teeth. Hannibal growled and pulled Will tight against his chest, fingers clawing into his shoulder and taking a handful of his hair to hold him steady, scraping his teeth against Will’s neck. His chest rumbled. And ardently, savagely, he rasped: “Mine. My mate.”

And he sank his teeth into the muscle of Will’s neck, splitting cleanly through skin.

Will gasped. His vision went white as the mating bite sent a hormonal tidal wave through his system. He grabbed at Hannibal’s hips and thrust into him harder, faster. Hannibal just clamped down on the same spot on his neck, and even with the adrenal rush, it hurt. But Will didn’t give a fuck about the pain. His knot was already responding to the onslaught of hormones, and before he knew it he was whining, desperate.

“Let me, Hannibal, let me bite, let me—” He groaned as Hannibal’s fingers clawed down his back to his waist.

Hannibal finally released his neck. When Will pulled back to see him he looked victorious, flushed and proud, tongue cleaning the blood from his lips. Will took a moment to firmly embed the image in his memory before he couldn’t resist any longer. He held Hannibal down and bit him in a mirror of his own mark, canines sinking in until he tasted copper.

Hannibal practically howled as he came, clenching around him, and Will groaned into his neck as his knot swelled. He bit down harder, satisfaction coursing through him like fire with every extra bit he dug into the mark site on Hannibal’s neck. It was addictive—the noises it drew from Hannibal, usually so composed; the perfect tension of his jaw and teeth digging into that patch of muscle; the way Hannibal was so tight that it almost hurt to thrust into him. He panted, so close to coming, and Hannibal spoke, breathy but hypnotic—a command.

“Give yourself to me.”

And Will practically collapsed as he did, spilling inside him for what seemed like an eternity. He moaned and lay shuddering on Hannibal’s chest, while Hannibal carefully adjusted his legs to accommodate the knotting more comfortably. Will’s lips went to the raw wound on his neck and kissed it, lapped at it gently to soothe.

The mating bond was forming now. He could feel it expanding some incomprehensible part of himself, but it felt in some ways more solid—like his ribs were opening up to encase Hannibal inside him, like their exchange of blood and spit and semen were forming physical ties, drawing them tightly together.

Hannibal purred, a deep noise that resonated all the way through Will’s chest. He nosed into Will’s neck, but instead of licking it gently in return, he set his mouth along the wound and bit again, worrying it. Will knew without asking that Hannibal wanted the scar to be as visible as possible, and he breathed through it, though he was tense. He kept thinking about what he had seen in the dark—logic told him it was simply an illusion, but his gut wouldn’t agree. And those teeth did feel sharper than they should be.

“You’re mine now, Will,” Hannibal murmured, when his teeth parted from Will’s skin.

Will shivered and nosed into his neck, inhaling. The pheromones relaxed him and made him less afraid to pull back as he did now, and reach his fingers to gently touch Hannibal’s blood-dampened lips. He raised his eyes briefly to see if Hannibal’s face showed any sign of warning, then carefully pressed the top lip up and to the side, exposing his teeth.

They weren’t quite the frightening ensemble held by the creature in his dream—they were less jagged, less razor-sharp—but they definitely weren’t human, either. Each one held a point.

He exhaled sharply, but couldn’t help running his thumb very lightly across them, fascinated.

“What are you, then?” he asked quietly, removing his hand.

“The ancestor of a creature that no longer walks this earth. Though the bloodline is quite diluted by now.”

“Was that what I was dreaming about?”

He smiled, and stroked his hands along Will’s sides. “You’ve always had a knack for seeing beneath the surface of things, Will. It seems that together, my influence and your subconscious were able to present you with a vision that was not inaccurate. You could see just a bit through my disguise, and sharing my blood has gifted you with clearer vision.”

“Is that what you were waiting for, before we mated? You wanted me to see?”

“Yes. I wanted to make sure you saw, and understood. No split loyalties.” Before Will could think of a reply, Hannibal said, “You will learn everything, in time. Every detail of what I am. But for now, my heat must still be sated. Perhaps somewhere more comfortable than the floor.”

And indeed, Will’s knot was starting to shrink, and Hannibal shifted, pulling away and pushing Will over to the sofa, until he was leaning back and Hannibal could ride him again.

It was not hard for Will to lose himself again, eager to bury himself as deep into his mate as he could. Things were hazy. His brain was swimming with oxytocin, dopamine, all the aftereffects of bonding. He lost track of where Hannibal’s skin ended and his began, of whose blood was on his tongue. Hannibal’s hands on him felt like a gift, even when he was clawing, leaving his mark—and Will was aware of how heavily he was being marked, of how many bites and sucks and claw marks he was being subjected to, but it just made him all the more satisfied. He wanted Hannibal to lay his claim in this way, and to leave his own marks in return.

After Will came again, locking inside Hannibal, he felt his mind clear for a moment. He cupped Hannibal’s cheek, and Hannibal nipped his hand, though gently. It made him smile to see such care taken when he knew those teeth could do far greater damage.

He stroked through Hannibal’s hair, and his fingers stumbled upon a pair of bumps, one on each side of his head. He frowned for a moment before realizing.

“I’ve caught you at the wrong time of year, haven’t I?”

“Yes. Though it’s perhaps to your benefit that you avoided the accompanying hormonal fluctuations during our courtship.”

Will rubbed across one with his thumb. Hannibal didn’t seem to mind his curiosity. “Did you really think I would be disloyal once I found out, after all I’d given you?”

“I doubted it. But I wanted you to see me, for it to be your choice. To see my fangs and still let me bite. And I could see the moment you saw, and did not retreat. That’s when I was certain.”

Will smiled. “I already gave you a knife and let you bite with it—and human or not, I knew you were a dangerous creature.”

Hannibal nosed against his knuckles and breathed him in. “You’re right. I’ve chosen well.”

Will leaned their foreheads together, watching the molten shift of Hannibal’s eyes in double vision. In the near dark they again looked close to burgundy. He moved his hand to cup Hannibal’s jaw, and kissed him, taking time to fully appreciate his lips, as if this was the first time he’d tasted them. Then he went deeper, through the seam of his lips and into his mouth, tongue flickering against his sharp teeth. Silently assuring him: _I accept this as mine_.

“And you have no misgivings?” Hannibal asked quietly, once their lips had parted for a moment.

Will almost laughed. “I’m still not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of bizarre dream where I’ve fallen in love with the Devil. But I have, and you’ve marked me as yours. So I’ll learn to live with every part of you. And I’ll hunt with you. I’ll kill for you. Whatever you need. And…” He exhaled shakily. He let himself imagine, for a moment, that this mating might result in pregnancy, and satisfaction stirred deep within him. “Same goes for our children. You said they would present ‘unique obstacles?’”

“Doubtlessly. I understand my sister and I were terrors.”

Will was somewhat afraid to learn what exactly that might mean in this context, but he nodded. “Then I’ll do my best. And if you defend our children with the same ferocity I’ve seen from you so far, I think I’ve lucked out having you as my mate.”

Hannibal smiled and purred, revealing the sharpness of his teeth as he stretched his neck, baring it in offering. “I assure you, I will,” he said, and laughed quietly. “Between you and I and their genetic inheritance, god help anyone who would try to do them harm.”

Will set his mouth against his throat, heart fluttering with joy. It seemed their future was not likely to become any less complicated, nor less violent—and he was sure, in this moment, that that was just perfect for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Any and all comments are much appreciated.


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